


MODERN LOVE

by dividedheart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Implied Non-Con, M/M, OC, Prostitution, escort AU, implied rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dividedheart/pseuds/dividedheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ikari Hanamura<br/>Height: 5’2<br/>Weight: 113 lbs<br/>Age: 15</p><p>Rules and limitations: No intimacy on first dates. No violence or profane behavior. First dates must be scheduled in public places. Requires background check. 115000/hr. Contact Takashi Mitsu for more information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. REAPER MAN

**Author's Note:**

> ♪fuck yeah i'm a deviant♬  
> ♪when i go to the store i go undressed♬♪♬
> 
> (this is messed up, but mostly derived from a fanfic i'm in the middle of writing that is much, much longer and is similar in theme.)

Nishinoya is nervous.

There’s a flutter in his stomach – he can recognize the feeling instantly. The tips of his fingers feel light, and his hands tremble as he pulls on his coat. He sticks the buttons through their holes and flattens out the creases across his sleeves, trying to shake himself free of the feeling.

It’s a Givenchy wool coat today, with a creamy white button-up shirt underneath. Too expensive for his tastes, he thinks, and way too obvious. It’s a callout to what he is, and he hates it enough to curse himself and then the earth, and then himself some more.

This sensation has come to be familiar. If he could have it some other way, he would, because the tight feeling in his throat and the sticky, clamminess that covers his palms is gross. He wipes them on his pants. 

He pulls on his boots, lacing them up with a gentle hand – these are leather, they reek of it, the soles are soft and the toes are steel. He’s worn them twice, and each time they flew off his feet quicker than he could lean down to pull them off. This is his third time putting them on. 

Kind of a waste; they’re cool, sleek little combats, and honestly, they’re more to his tastes than anything else in his back wardrobe right now. He wishes he could wear them out more often, but he knows that they’re way out of his price range, and the sight of them would send heads swiveling if he were going anywhere other than where he’s going tonight. They’ll stay in the back of his closet and rot until he has no use for them anymore.

He catches something in the corner of his eye; he stops by the mirror in the hallway as he makes his way to the door, and he switches on the light and fidgets nervously before his reflection. Nishinoya slicks back his bangs and pouts – it’s down tonight, by request. They always want it down. It doesn’t make him look like himself, but he guesses that’s fine, too. He makes a face in the mirror, trying to ease the anxiety from his shoulders.

He slings his bag across his shoulder as he opens his door and steps outside into the cool, refreshing evening air. It’s more a satchel than a purse, which is at least a little more dignified than what he’s been asked to carry before. He’s used this one quite a few times, and it’s probably by a brand just as prestigious as the last few. 

The dress pants he’s wearing are kind of loose, and comfortable, and the jacket is kind of hot but it’s nice and soft, too. He feels his confidence soar as he practically struts to the edge of his yard – click, clack, go the heels on the boots – he strikes a pose in the failing light of the afternoon and bursts out laughing at himself. 

“Tonight’ll be good,” He says, doing a couple jumping jacks on the road, readying himself physically. It does little more than add to the nervous perspiration beading on his brow.

Tonight is going to be good, though. A delicious four course meal, with desserts so sweet they’re like to sour his taste buds for anything else. A nice, relaxing night, with the added bonus of a hefty cheque waiting for him by the end of it. A couple thousand yen, with a couple more zeros tacked onto the end. That’s what tonight is.

Tonight isn’t special, even though he knows it should be; it would be to any other normal sixteen year old kid addicted to volleyball and bruises. For Nishinoya, it’s just the usual routine that he takes up every other weekend. 

The spot he’s arranged to be picked up at is out of sight from his neighbors and kind of secluded. If he wasn’t so used to this by now, he’d feel even more anxious from the sketchiness of the area. There’s no threat here, though, not in the low hum of the cicadas, no; not in the chirping of the crickets or the hiss of the wind. 

There’s nothing here but silent peace. He feels kind of bad for disrupting it, especially when the limo pulls up with a horrible squeal of tires. 

The man driving doesn’t greet him when he slips inside the back, just glances at him to make sure he’s put his seatbelt on. Nishinoya catches sight of his face – that’s familiar, too – before the tinted windows separating them slide to a mechanical close. He pouts at no one and kicks his feet, tossing his bag onto the seat beside him before fitfully squirming and grabbing it back to dig around for his phone.

This isn’t really his, either. It’s Vertu; that’s what the gift box he was given it in said, anyway. It’s kind of nice, but it’s not a flip phone so texting is ungainly and it’s useless for anything more than phone calls. The gems on the side of it are annoying, too. He uses it sparsely, but he has Love Live on it so it’s good for something, which right now just happens to be curing him of the inevitable boredom that a four hour car ride brings. Shit. Did he pee before he left?

Nishinoya kicks his feet and passes the time comfortably. The windows are dark enough that no one can see inside but he can see out, so he stops gaming from time to time to glance outside. His agitation surmounts and he fidgets more and more as they draw closer to their intended destination. 

“Man,” He groans out after an hour or two of driving. “I gotta pee. Takashi, can we please stop by a convenience store or something?”

No one answers, but after another twenty minutes of Nishinoya whining to a driver that doesn’t respond, they slowly pull up to a cute little shop meant for small girl’s clothing. He’s pretty sure this an insult, but his bladder is full enough that he wouldn’t care even if it were a sex toy shop.

“Screw you,” He says, even though he doesn’t mean it. “They better have boys’ washrooms in there. If they don’t, I’m suing you,” He squirms, reaching for the door handle. He jiggles it, to no avail, but there’s a loud, resounding beep and it unlocks automatically. He salutes in thanks. “O—kay! Be back in a sec! Better hope they’re empty of customers in there too, by the way. Don’t I look thuggish from a normal person’s perspective? I totally do. Okay. Be back.”

Nishinoya hops free from the warm confines of the cushiony car and prances into the chilly outside air. He has no clue why or how it’s open at this time – 7’o clock, which okay, isn’t that bad – but he doesn’t care and he storms inside and up to the register. The woman working there is middle-aged, and she glances up at him worriedly when his boots squeak obnoxiously against the tile in greeting. She flits between panic and confusion and then settles on confusion once she identifies him as a non-threat.

“Oh! Good evening. How may I he—”

“Bathroom,” He says, hopping from one foot to the other. “Where?”

She points wordlessly, apparently unimpressed. He stumbles over in that general direction and almost runs over to the urinals, struggling with his stupid Givenchy wool coat, which is buttoned up to his throat and god, it is suddenly way too warm in here. He just barely manages to unzip his pants and get his fancy triple digit thread count jacket out of the way before the floodgates are unleashed. He sighs, long and low, and takes a second to think.

There’s no more anxiety left in him anymore. There’s just the raw wound that screams anticipation with every beat of his heart. He doesn’t know which is worse: getting ready for the night, or getting through it. The first part is over, and really, that’s the time in which he contemplates slamming his head through a brick wall the most, so he guesses that’s the worst part of the night, maybe? He’s not sure, but at least his bladder is empty now.

He shakes himself free of any clinging drops and shimmies his pants back up around his waist properly, shucking his coat back down and wobbling over to wash his hands. Soap. Lots of soap.

He leaves almost reluctantly, waving to the worried looking woman behind the counter as he goes. He’s pretty sure he’s unremarkable except for his height, his hair, his clothes and his method of transportation, so… he’s hoping she just doesn’t remember him for any particular reason. 

He slides back into the leather seat of the car and buckles up, giving a thumbs up to the person behind the wheel. The tinted glass slides back over in a heartbeat, but he catches a smile this time.

Tokyo isn’t so bad, he thinks, as they drive. This is routine: the drive, the anticipation, the _traffic_. His opinion changes for the millionth time when they get stuck in place for what feels like the fiftieth time, and soon enough he’s murmuring prayers against the cool glass window of the car door. An hour of sitting, then another hour of driving, and then they arrive.

Nishinoya opens up pictures of the intended meet-up spot on his phone and then jams it into his pocket and reaches up to flick down the mirror inside the car. He smooths out the wrinkles in his coat, brushes his hair back and combs it through with his fingers, flattening his expression into a smooth look of sophistication. 

It doesn’t work, and he cracks a ridiculous grimace at himself. He looks fine. He looks good, and that’s the weird part. Nice pants, nice dumb coat, nice stupid little satchel, cool phone and cool boots. Even if he doesn’t look like himself, he looks like someone who fits into this niche, this high-class world.

He steps out into the cold air, marveling at the lights and sounds of the city. This never gets old. It’s beautiful outside, and he’s got a bit of a walk, which means he has plenty of time to soak the view in and reorient himself. Four hours in a car do things to your head; he glances back at the limo, and sees it gone. All is right. 

There’s a lot of people, which is normal enough. The part that gets to him is the fact that they divide like he’s Moses and they’re the red sea. It’s kind of nice, like he’s important enough to be noticed and have people move aside for him without a word. Maybe it’s his shoes. They give him about an inch to his height, after all. It lets him take the experience in a bit better; the nosiness of the people, the flashing colors and loud lights streaming from large ads that surround him. 

The bustle fades away the closer he gets to his destination, which is about fifteen minutes away from his drop off zone. This area is denser, but the people are no less refined. None of it screams sketchy, and if he were the same person he was a year ago, he’d probably think of it as a shopping center for the wealthy, prosperous and pure.

Now, though, it’s all he can do to get a grip on his anxiety. He stops in front of the restaurant, glancing down at his phone as he does. The names match up; so do the pictures he’d been e-mailed. This is the spot. This is _it_. His palms are cold and clammy and he cracks his knuckles like he’s going into a boxing match, except the stakes are so much higher if he pulls a punch or slips up.

The door opens inward and Nishinoya tries pulling it. He battles with it for a moment and glances around nervously, terribly embarrassed, but no one is around and that anxiety comes and goes pretty quickly. Once inside, he takes a second to look around. He marvels at the inside of the place, momentarily breathless. 

There’s a long hallway, back lit with hues of purple and blue, leading down to a small, sleek counter, where a suited man sits in front of a book with a fountain pen in his hands. There seems to be a bit of a theme in color, with lighting being cool colors, while the walls and floors are grays and browns. It’s a nice set up. 

The man is talking to customers, a woman and a man, both of whom are dressed similarly. She’s wearing a dress – long, red, and tight, while he wears a loose fitting blouse with sleek dress pants. They’re not overly fancy, but Nishinoya suddenly feels explosively self-conscious. He reminds himself that this outfit wasn’t really his choice in the first place. 

Nishinoya steps up behind the couple, fiddling with his sleeves as they chit-chat and are finally lead away by a waitress. The man behind the counter nods amiably to them and then turns to Nishinoya, freezing in place. A look of disbelief flashes across his face, brief, but obvious. He clears his throat politely and nods.

“Hello. We accept reservations through telephone and e-mail. I’m assuming you’re here to book, if you’re not… _lost_. Your name…?” He asks. Nishinoya stares, looking for a name tag. He can’t find one, but remembers that he doesn’t want to familiarize himself with any of this anyways.

“Erm,” He stammers, already feeling like a mistake, a smudge on the ledger. “I’m here for someone else. I mean, I’m with someone else. They should already be here,” He tries, realizing too late that the man was asking for his name.

“Your name?” The man asks again, his distrust unmasked. 

“Ni—Ikari Hanamura. Ikari, for eight o clock,” He blurts, reflexively.

“Alright,” He says, scanning the book in front of him with a nod and a swirl of the pen in between his fingers. He starts, apparently surprised to find him in the book. He glances up at Nishinoya and then back down, almost nervously. “O-oh. My. Excuse my informality. Right this way, please, Hanamura; we’ll have someone take your coat, if that’s alright.”

“Ergh, yes, please,” Nishinoya fumbles with the stupid buttons and then backpedals. “Um, never mind, I’m actually kind of cold? Thanks though,” He mentally shakes his head at himself, feeling hot. The man doesn’t seem to mind, and nods curtly, ushering him forward. 

“Of course. This way, if you would, please follow me.”

Nishinoya does. He wipes his sweaty hands on his scratchy wool coat and slowly begins to unbutton it as they walk, hoping the man doesn’t notice. He kind of hates this, this nervous preparing. The mental part is always terrible, because Nishinoya is good with methodical training: he can shower, get dressed, train, arrange himself just as instructed, but he can’t deal with rough starts like this, because a small stumble leads to him almost always falling flat on his face. Considering that, he’s doing well so far.

They enter a private area. He knows it’s been reserved, can tell because the gentle chatting that he’d been hearing up until a second ago floats away and silence takes its place until that, too, is replaced by the tinkling rush of water from a fountain. They step around the corner, and Nishinoya almost runs into the back of the man leading him because he stops so suddenly. Reluctantly, and with a sort of finality, Nishinoya steps around him to face the man he’s supposed to spend the night with.

He’s handsome. Then and there, that’s all Nishinoya can come up with. He’s an older man, but he radiates confidence despite the gray in his hair and the wrinkles worked into his skin, crinkling around his cheeks, lined from his smile. He’s relaxed and he gives a low hum of approval upon sighting Nishinoya, and he nods to the serving man before he even has a chance to speak; it’s enough to send him into a jittery speech about the specials on the menu tonight.

Nishinoya can’t think of anything charming to say right now, so he settles for shrugging his jacket off and throwing himself down into the leather comforts of the booth opposite the older man. He remembers his name, all of a sudden, like it somehow wasn’t important until just now. 

Gerard Tatsuki. He’s half; Japanese father, probably, with an English mother. The thought that this person has family is perplexing, and Nishinoya thinks himself into silence again, but the waiter is still talking, thank god for that. 

He stops and motions to the small button underneath the table, letting them know that _we’re ready to serve you at your leisure_. Nishinoya wants to snort and tell him to just give him crayons, paper, and a menu, but he settles for crossing his legs and smiling politely.

He asks them what drinks they’d like; the man – Tatsuki – asks for a gin and tonic and then schnapps, for Nishinoya. The waiter leaves, and the quiet is suddenly deafening. Nishinoya’s leg bounces up and down and he bites his lower lip, glancing anxiously up at the man across from him. Starting is always hard.

“Schnapps?” He tries, warming up.

“You like sweet things,” Tatsuki says, voice a warm murmur. “They’re quite sugary, you know. _Peachy._ Get comfortable, please. The drink will help relax you,” He huffs, with more mirth than is deserved. Nishinoya realizes that Tatsuki is excited, and then he does relax, all at once, his shoulders slumping weakly. 

He remembers that this man is the exact same as all the other men who’ve called upon him as an escort before, with lustful gazes and ugly ideals. This man reeks of overpowering cologne and breath-mints, just barely masking the smell of stale cigarettes. Nishinoya thinks that he must be a lonely person.

He sits a little straighter, and holds his head a little higher. He knows that Tatsuki wants to see childish nervousness in him, so he doesn’t grow too bold, not yet, but at the exact right time he’ll roll his shoulders and crack his knuckles. For now, he just simpers, smiling and licking his lips.

“Sounds good,” He bounces in his seat, looking around excitedly. They’re going to drink, have an awesome meal, and then go to some hotel to chill out in a hot tub. Nishinoya is in a four star restaurant and he isn’t paying for any of it. Having fun is in the job description. He needs to act natural, like this isn’t some scene from some bizarre Western romance film, like he’s comfortable with this stifling, snobby atmosphere.

“Hmm, this place is really fancy. Isn’t it? You seem so comfy here. I thought that waiter was going to–” _Shit himself_ , he’d say, callous and rude, as is his nature. “—explode, just from the pressure of taking our order. And buttons,” He motions. “Service. Real service!”

The man smiles, real warmth behind it this time. He wonders if he sees his son or his daughter in Nishinoya, if this is the only way he keeps himself in check. This isn’t the time or place to think that, though; Nishinoya, by exception, makes sure to never think deeply during these dates, so he disregards that thought and leans forward excitedly. 

“Tatsuki – do you come here often?”

“Quite, actually. Their food is spectacular,” He nods, leaning forward too, like they’re conspiring together. “Trust me on their reputation. They’ve earned it, especially when it comes to their English food. It’s out of this world,” He says.

“W—ow, huh, you like foreign food like that? I’m really plain,” He shrugs. “So I usually go for typical miso soup, rice, and fish. It’s just easy… but I love trying new things,” Nishinoya flutters his eyelashes lazily. 

“Curious, huh? It’s good for boys your age to develop a taste for things,” He chuckles, reaching forward to pat Nishinoya’s hands where they rest on the table, folded together politely. “Especially food. If there’s one thing I can advise you on… learn how to cook. It will impress your friends, your family, and your potential lovers. Nothing brings two people together more than a delicious meal,” He says, suggestively.

The waiter interrupts them with a short bow and the delivery of their drinks. He hands them one menu each, nods, and takes his leave after Tatsuki asks for the usual appetizer. Nishinoya inspects his drink, taking a delicate sip with a smack of his lips. His heart plummets. It’s thick and syrupy and the scent makes his head reel. He doubts there’s less than ten percent alcohol in it, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Tonight is going to be a long night.


	2. VERY GOOD BAD THING

The rain is coming down hard. Nishinoya can do little else but sit inside the car and watch, vision blurring in and out. His breathing feels low and shallow and there’s a small lump sitting in his throat that makes swallowing difficult. He feels so cold and so sore and he hates everything.

He hates this.

There are bruises across his chest and stomach where Tatsuki had decided to place his mouth. His hips sting, and his shoulders burn just slightly from where they’d been held against the bedframe. He hurts, and he hates this.

The rain won’t stop. It just keeps going and going and Nishinoya is too exhausted to trek through the mud and the great sloughs of water that await him outside. He doesn’t feel like stumbling around in the dawn and returning home to a warm bed that isn’t really his own.

Because this isn’t him.

Nishinoya Yuu is a bright, happy boy – he’s a punk kid with an attitude to match the crazy spikes of hair that he sticks up with gel every morning, the fiery blonde streak that sticks out in the middle, so outstanding. He laughs and he yells with fervor, he teases his friends with glee, and he has amazing one-bites that makes everyone weep.

Nishinoya Yuu is not a simpering whore, abused and timid. He isn’t smacked around and pulled into submission. He doesn’t keep his hair down and he doesn’t douse himself in perfume so the forty year old, balding man paying him to eat a free dinner with him stays happy.

He certainly isn’t talked into sex.

He isn’t an escort with a three hundred thousand yen bag and a stupid, diamond encrusted phone.

Nishinoya Yuu lies to himself, but if there is anything he can say honestly, he can say that he isn’t fucking paid enough for this shit.

He can’t help but laugh at the thought. It’s a trembling, weak sort of hiccup, but it’s a laugh and suddenly he can move again and he grabs the sleek, black umbrella inside his bag and steps outside the car. There’s a six hundred thousand yen cheque sitting in his bag and it is worth the treatment he has received but at the same time, it will never be enough.

It’s still dark outside and his legs are shaking, but he’s strong enough to carry himself down the street and through the ankle-deep puddles. The limo is gone when he turns to look, but he knows that his boss isn’t ever far behind, knows that that’s why he’s still stuck doing this.

This will never happen again, he says to himself, over and over, repeating a desperate mantra deep inside his head. Takashi Mitsu takes care of him, and he will never see Tatsuki again; he’ll be blacklisted across the board and will have to resort to good old fashioned hooking. He will have to hang from his car and holler for the nearest woman or man or teenager and hope not to get some kind of disease. He is a scumbag among scumbags.

The thought does nothing to sooth the ache in Nishinoya’s bones.

He’s drenched by the time he arrives home despite the umbrella over his head. He is a wet rat, scraggly and sad, homeless. He is not himself.

The house is empty but it’s warm and familiar. He slugs his stupid fucking Givenchy coat off and throws it onto the floor and stares at it. It’s probably worth a scholarship to somewhere great. It’s enough to pay to feed Hinata’s family for a solid two months, or maybe three, and probably Tanaka, Asahi and Daichi’s too. This scrap of super soft fabric is worth more than some people’s pay cheques, and instead it will go inside the back of his closet after he dries it out.

He howls with sudden fury and then jumps on top of it and stamps it down with muddy, slick shoes, and then he gives up on that and turns to his boots, too, ripping out the laces and throwing them against the wall. He forgets they’re steel-toed, and the little dent in the plaster makes him even angrier so he takes his dumb Louis Vutton bag and digs around to find the stupid smart phone.

He throws that against the wall, and it shatters with a sweet, sickening crunch of glass. He’s in the hallway and someone might find this, this evidence – but his mother isn’t due home until September and his father is busy in America, so he rips off his buttoned-up shirt and pulls down his over-sized pants and throws them all into a heap onto the floor, right there in the hallway. He storms upstairs in his bruises and his underwear and turns on the bath, letting it run hot. He showers and then he slips into the scalding water and he scrubs, hard, furious, so angry and so hurt.

And then he is Nishinoya Yuu again.

He knows enough to scramble back downstairs to grab his bag and his smashed phone, throwing them inside his closet together. There’s a little gem missing from the side, but Nishinoya doesn’t care. He goes to bed even though it’s nearing six am and he has school.

He doesn’t care, he can’t. He just can’t make himself care, not now. Exhaustion has worn him down to the bone, and he really, really needs a day off from faking smiles and forging laughs the same way some age-old samurai master would fashion sick goddamn katanas back in the good old days. He usually thinks he is kind of awesome, but right now he feels more like a petty geisha and anyway, the hickies on his neck are going to need a while to heal.

Nishinoya Yuu is pathetic and he knows it.

\-- -- --

He wakes to the slow, soothing cry of the cicadas. It’s midday, probably, because the sun is streaming through into his room where he lays in a heap in the middle of his bed, bundled up in his little libero burrito. He can hardly remember where he is, but when he does he feels so relieved that he nearly passes out again, until he realizes something distinct has woken him up.

He shuffles around and tosses his head to the side, leaving both his ears open. He can’t hear anything, and he squints around angrily and closes his eyes again, reluctant to get up. It must have just been his imagination after all.

 _Thud. Thud. Thud._ There it is again. It’s a slow thumping, and it’s not his own heartbeat or the headache he knows is going to start up once he wakes up. He fidgets with the covers, smoothing them down over himself, rubbing his forehead with a wheezy sigh in and out through his nose.

“What,” He says dumbly, confused.

Then he hears it loud and clear, streaming through his open window, right after the knocking repeats itself. It’s a voice, one he knows far too well.

_Nishinoya!_

_Nishinoya, are you home? Can you hear me? Are you alright?_

He sits bolt upright in bed and panics.

Nishinoya throws his covers off himself and scrambles into his bathroom, throwing on an over-sized sweater and then stumbling through into his bedroom to desperately find pants. There are pants here somewhere, he knows there are, but where?

The distinct sound of his front door opening makes him freeze in place, half-way through zipping up a rag-tag pair of jeans. He stops, realizing that he is shaking so hard he can’t even button them up. It’s like he’s gotten caught red-handed, but he doesn’t know what he’s been caught doing until he hears a frightened gasp from his front hallway and remembers the mess he’d left there.

He throws himself down the stairs, thundering down with such a ferocity that he’s shocked he isn’t falling flat on his face. He full on sprints into the hallway and almost runs straight into one harassed looking Tanaka Ryuunosuke.

“Nishinoya!” He gasps, grabbing Nishinoya’s shoulders with a heartfelt cry. “God, dude! There you are, you nearly gave me a heart attack – what’s with the mess, why are you all a mess, why weren’t you—fuckin’ shit, what’s going on?”

“Noya!” Someone else shouts, not far behind. It’s Sugawara, Nishinoya can tell just by his voice, and he feels so hot and so ashamed and his headache is already blinding. The day is far too early for this, and he can’t think straight. He stumbles away from Tanaka and then finds his voice.

“What… what’re you guys doing here?” He manages, just barely. He has to clear his throat.

“You’ve missed two days of school, man, without a word,” Tanaka says, mouth agape. His eyes keep darting all over the destructive mayhem that is his front hallway, and Sugawara creeps forward.

“Two?” Nishinoya squeaks.

“Yes,” Sugawara says, slowly and calmly, so quiet that Nishinoya has to strain to hear him. “Three, technically. A practice match, too. We’d called you multiple times. Everyone was so worried, and we… well,” Sugawara can’t seem to find words, looking around the hallway with quiet, suppressed awe.

“Who did you beat up?” Tanaka asks. “Who beat you up?” Tanaka bristles.

“What?” Nishinoya murmurs, dazed. He can’t believe this is happening. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday,” Sugawara answers, still speaking very slowly as he approaches Tanaka’s side and motions for him to move back. “It’s Wednesday, Noya, and it’s four o clock in the afternoon,”

“What?” He slurs again, stupidly. “But it was just Sunday, though? Like, a day ago,” He squints, staring at Sugawara, quickly growing skeptical. This is his vice-captain, and there’s no way he’d blatantly lie like this, but he cannot believe that he’s slept that long. “There’s no way I slept for three whole days,” He says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Did you drink?” Tanaka blurts, tilting himself into Nishinoya’s view again. He looks like he wants to laugh, but Nishinoya can’t comprehend the mixed expression on his face and interprets it as scorn. “Jesus. You’re screwed up right now, huh?”

“I’m not messed up – and I didn’t drink,” He hisses, and then realizes that he did a bit and that it’s better to be seen as an underage alcoholic rather than a whore. “Well, maybe?”

“Maybe?” Sugawara asks, eyebrows twisting up in delicate concern. “Actually, don’t. Don’t answer that. I think you need to sit down and, um… have some water. Where’s your kitchen, Nishinoya?”

“This way,” He says, still squinting at Sugawara, pointing. He leads them without another word, hoping that as soon as they turn the corner the evidence of his little fit disappears.

It doesn’t, but at least his kitchen is in normal shape. He seats himself wearily on one of the faux-leather stools at the counter and puts his head in his hands, still completely out of it. Is his life over yet? He can’t tell, and he’s not sure if he wants to struggle through the line of questioning that is to come.

He’s sick. He’s had a bad flu, that’s it. Did he screw himself over with his uncertain little maybe back there? He can say he’s just loopy from puking his guts out for the past couple days. That will work, probably, but Sugawara is really smart. Shit. He already admitted to sleeping for three days straight. His clothes. Why are they all over the floor?

“Nishinoya,” Sugawara croons, by his shoulder. Nishinoya jumps out of his skin and flails a bit, turning around to face his friend, realizing that he’d repeatedly called his name and had received no answer. Tanaka is but a breath away, practically hugging his side. Nishinoya catches a glance of his worry and feels ashamed of himself.

“Water,” He says, and Sugawara hands him a cool, tall glass. He tries not to chug it, because his empty stomach will probably reject any more than a drop or two at a time. He’s halfway through a small, timid sip when his thirst kicks in, though, and he throws that out the window, guzzling half of the glass and slamming it down onto the table with a long, drawn out sigh.

“Okay,” Sugawara starts, sitting down beside him. Tanaka sits on his other side and Nishinoya struggles not to turn and look at him, too scared to see his expression. “So. This is kind of tough. Um. I guess I can—“

“Noya, why the fuck is there a pile of mouldy smelling clothing in the hallway? Why did you sleep for three freakin’ days straight—“

“Tanaka!” Sugawara groans, exasperated. “Some tact, please?”

“Sick,” Nishinoya says, flatly. “I was sick. I had the flu. I came home when it was raining and since I was soaked to the bone and freezing, I just… pulled it all off there and then went and passed out in bed. I was shivery and sweaty and ill and… yeah, I mean, that’s why I couldn’t answer the phone, I dunno… I didn’t do it purposely,” He tries, squinting at Sugawara while forcing his face to stay still. Don’t sweat. Don’t look away. Don’t let him know.

“Really,” Sugawara says, skeptical. “Is that so? Then what’s that hole in the wall?”

Nishinoya forces himself to shrug like he just doesn’t give a damn. “Dunno. I was pretty delirious. I think I threw my bag and shoes off in my rush and, uh… yeah, didn’t go so well. Why?” Nishinoya turns to face him properly. “You don’t believe me?” He says, faking anger. The false rage ignites a spark of real fury, and in seconds he is squirming in his stool, frowning, biting his lower lip.

“It’s not that!” Sugawara says, raising his hands defensively. “We were just so worried! We’d thought you’d run away, almost like how Asahi had,” He admits, some shame of his own creeping into his expression.

“Well, not all of us,” Tanaka leers, and Nishinoya finally turns to look at him, sizing him up. He seems pretty satisfied with Nishinoya’s explanation. “I knew something was up! I thought you were sick, and I was right, right?"

“Oh,” Sugawara says, and Nishinoya turns back to him, watching him fidget with discomfort. “Uh.”

“What?” Nishinoya says, narrowing his eyes. God, he is already close to migraine territory right now, he does not deserve this. “What’s up now?”

“Suga?” Tanaka asks, sounding concerned. “Man, if I can believe him, you can, too. I freaked out hardest about it when he didn’t show for the match! You remember? Hinata was super antsy about it, too. Shit, man, you should’ve seen Asahi—”

“No. It’s not that. It’s nothing, I just had a thought,” He says. Nishinoya feels his stomach plummet, knowing that it can’t be good, not when it’s Sugawara.

“Whatever,” Nishinoya waves a hand, like he’s dismissive, like he doesn’t care, like he’s more worried about his fake flu than anything his friend has to say. “I think I might puke all over the counter right now. Are you guys satisfied with knowing I’m not dead?”

“No way!” Tanaka looks like he wants to thump him on the back, but he refrains, instead settling his hand on his shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. It hurts more than it should, because that’s exactly where Tatsuki’d bruised him earlier, and a real wave of nausea hits him. “As your friend, who happens to be, like, what, three months older—“

“Two,” Sugawara supplies.

“—two months older than you, I am tasked to be your dutiful caregiver,” He says, bowing in one low sweeping motion.

“What does that make me?” Sugawara hides his smile behind his hand.

“A mom,” Nishinoya says, without thinking. Tanaka bursts out laughing and then Nishinoya does, too, but that actually makes his head throb really violently so he kind of chokes a bit and then Tanaka starts to smarten up and take his role seriously, patting him gently on the back and hushing him.

While Sugawara grabs his glass of water and refills it, Tanaka lifts him bodily from his stool and helps him back up the stairs to his room. Nishinoya is grateful for his friends just then. They head up the stairs rather slowly, and once they reach his room, Sugawara places the water on his bedside table with a delicate hand, all smiles. “I think you might need some medication, young man. Where do you keep it?”

“Ah,” He stammers, trying to think about what’s in his washroom and whether or not it’s incriminating. There’s nothing out of the ordinary there, though, so he tells him where he keeps his pain medication and Sugawara stalks off, leaving Tanaka to scold Nishinoya about the destruction in his room.

“Okay, I knew you weren’t super neat, but this is brutal,” he says, looking around with an air of general distaste. “Damn! It’s like a laundry bomb went off in here. You know what cleaning is, right? You do it good at school, so what the hell—“

“I spend all my energy there,” Nishinoya says, rolling his eyes and smiling, smoothing out the blankets he’s been tucked into. “Too sick of cleanliness by the time I get home.”

“Huh,” Tanaka grunts, clearly doubtful. He opens up his mouth to retort back, probably with another smartass comment, but Sugawara swoops in with three multicolor tablets, claiming two are for headaches (how’d he know?) and one for stomach distress. Nishinoya doesn’t doubt him and swallows them down gratefully.

“Should we think about taking you to the doctor’s?” Sugawara asks him as he sits down on the edge of his bed, perched there daintily. If Nishinoya’s legs were a little longer, he could probably kick him off with a small push of his big toe. “You slept for nearly three days, right?"

“Well, I was sweating like crazy and in and out of sleep,” Nishinoya mumbles, shamefully. “I think I got up to be sick a couple times, but… I don’t really remember. I was super out of it. I still kind of am. I don’t think it requires a trip to the doc, really…”

“Maybe we should take you to one of our houses?” Sugawara’s eyes meet Tanaka’s for a second, and they give each other a little look and Nishinoya kind of hates how they can silently communicate. It’s like Tanaka’s his big brother and Sugawara is his lawful mother. If Daichi were here, he’d have a full four person family going on. It would be refreshing.

“I vote my place,” Tanaka says, grinning. “We have a massive spare bedroom you can stay in. I really don’t think it’s right to just leave you like this. Not ‘cause we’re tryna get on your ass for not going to school! But it’s real serious if you’re sleeping through it all on your own without help. That’s how people die. Plus,” He rambles on and on, cycling them through all the stages of awkward so awkward that everyone goes through when inviting someone over. “You’re small, so, like. Doesn’t your body heat mean a lot more? If it gets really high?”

“Probably,” Nishinoya laughs, relaxing where he sits. He is strangely alright with this. “I dunno. I’m not super keen on becoming your new pet project. Er. I mean. I’m not a big baby, I can…” He trails off. They are absolutely not buying it, judging by the skeptical looks on their faces.

“Take care of yourself?” Sugawara offers, not unkindly. “I think that’s true most of the time, Nishinoya. But when you’re sick, and I mean really ill like you are, no one can really take care of themselves. They just need help. Let us help you.”

“Okay,” Nishinoya says, instantly. It’s not a bad idea. Being doted on. Spending time with Tanaka. It’ll be fine. He’s alright with this. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, but he’s alright with this. He is. It’s just nervous flutters.

The tingling in the tips of his fingers is disgustingly familiar.

“That’s that!” Tanaka shouts, filled with sudden vigor. It shakes Nishinoya free of the anxiety that has gripped him. “Hell yes! Nishinoya sleep-overs, commence! Alright, hold on. I’m gonna call my sis. She’ll pick us up and drop us off, but she’s stayin’ somewhere else tonight,” He explains.

Sugawara stifles a giggle. “Oh, no. You two alone? Terrifying. Don’t force Nishinoya to eat your terrible omelettes, okay? He’ll get food poisoning right after having the flu. And he will die. Most likely.”

Tanaka tosses Sugawara a scary looking frown over his phone, but he’s busy texting so he doesn’t bother taking the bait. Nishinoya is surprised.

“Tanaka sucks at cooking?” He asks, instead.

“Yeah,” Sugawara struggles not to smile too wide. “He had me and Daichi over once. My god. I didn’t eat it. I thought I’d drop dead after about two bites,” Sugawara mimes keeling over and Nishinoya stifles a laugh. “Daichi kept going, though. Iron will, iron stomach. He didn’t even get sick, but I think he hated it so much he doesn’t even like omelettes anymore. It’s like a permanent branding—”

“Shut up!” Tanaka blurts, finishing off his text and snapping his phone shut. “Let me tell you right now, Noya! It was a fail! A big epic one! But trust me. I’ve made that dish a million times before and it was awesome every other time. That’s the only time it went bad! I added too much oyster sauce,” He grumbles, sadly.

Sugawara bounces up to his feet and pats Tanaka’s arm. “Okay, sure. Tell Nishinoya about some more of your exploits while I.... I think,” He turns to Nishinoya. “If it’s alright with you, I’ll gather up that mess in the hall? You’re not in any fit state to clean, so—”

“No,” He blurts in reflective response. “I mean. There’s no way I’m getting you to clean up my mess for me. That’s. Insane. I’ll do it. Let it mould over on the floor for now, it’s—“

“It’s not a big deal, Nishinoya,” Sugawara says, and it sounds so obvious that Nishinoya feels like a fool for objecting. “I’ll just throw the clothes in the washer and set them out to d—“

“We have a dryer,” He says.

“I’ll throw them in the tumbler dryer then,” He says, blinking owlishly. “I can’t repair your drywall, but I can help clean. Do I have your go-ahead?”

“Y…yeah. Thanks. You really don’t have to. But I appreciate it.” Nishinoya mumbles, sheepish.

Sugawara nods politely and skips off to clean. Nishinoya realizes that Tanaka is and has been laughing for the entire exchange.

“What?!” He shouts hotly. “What’s so funny?”

“I dunno, both of you,” He wipes tears from the corner of one eye. “He’s like a doting mom or something and you’re a little kid who’s so uppity, like – I’m mature, mom, treat me like an adult! It’s great.”

“No it’s not,” Nishinoya pouts, sinking back into his pillows. “Aw, man. I need to pack some clothes.”

“Just throw some pants and shirts and stuff into a bag,” Tanaka says, glancing around the room with a shake of his head. “Jesus. If you can find any clean ones. You know, it smells in here,”

“Shut up!” Nishinoya throws a pillow at Tanaka’s head, absolutely done for. The pills have kicked in, and his head is doing significantly better, which grants him the magical power to shout at Tanaka properly.

He shimmies out from under the covers and does as he’s told, though, and grabs a duffel bag from the closet, knocking the inconspicuous loose tiling back into place as he goes. He isn’t letting them see that, at least. Sugawara is too polite to inspect his wet, soggy jacket and jeans, so he isn’t overly worried about him cleaning up for him. It does make him feel like a bit of a mooch, since he isn’t actually sick. It’s like he’s playing a new role, but this time he’s himself.

He grabs pajamas and school clothes alike, plus, his real phone. Tanaka is really too nice, even though he teases Nishinoya horribly. He feels guilty all over again, especially when Sugawara pops back in to help him tidy up his room while in search of socks. Everything goes into the laundry basket (because really, he has absolutely no clue what’s clean and what’s dirty and it all smells after ripening on the floor) and by the time they’re all done and the washing machine is ringing out its cute song, Tanaka’s sister has arrived.

Sugawara throws the clothing in the dryer and then they all usher out of the house. Nishinoya makes sure to lock it this time, embarrassed and horrified to remember that yes, he really had forgotten on Sunday and that was what had gotten him into this jam in the first place, and takes a spare key to shove under a potted plant outside. There. Good as gold.

Tanaka’s house isn’t too far away, and they drop Sugawara off as they go. Nishinoya is feeling feverishly hot by the time they reach the front steps of Tanaka’s home, and his sister even climbs out of the car to unlock the door and help him inside. He is sick, so sick, and he probably actually does have some sort of flu for real.

The spare bedroom smells like lilacs and all Nishinoya wants to do is crawl into the king sized bed and sleep and sleep some more, but Tanaka ushers him into the bathroom to shower and get changed into proper sleeping clothes. Saeko declares that she will stay and make them soup, and Nishinoya can hear her clanging around in the kitchen even as he turns on the showerhead and steps underneath it.

He comes to the conclusion that he is not faking the fever: he is hotter than hell and incredibly dizzy, even after switching to cold water instead of warm. He is jittery like he’s hyped up on too much caffeine and his eyelids itch. He’d slept for three days straight, but he still feels like shit.

Three days.

Tatsuki hadn’t drugged him. Nishinoya almost wishes he had, because then maybe he wouldn’t remember things quite so clearly. Stress was a possibility, but it had never happened before. The job wasn’t usually bad, and mostly consisted of short-lived dates and quick, eventual fucks. He’d never fallen ill afterward, and he hadn’t been stuck outside long enough last night to catch a cold.

It’s confusing. He feels light-headed and woozy by the time he’s done showering and he struggles to complete the very basic task of changing into the clean clothes he’d brought along. He gives up after dragging his boxers up and stumbles out of the humid washroom and then hollers out, a little more than desperate.

“Ryuu!” He groans, barely holding himself up. “Shit! Ryuu – water! Water, water!”

“What?!” He hears distantly, and then the very loud thundering that signals Tanaka’s arrival up the stairs. “Whoa, man! Shit, what’s up?”

“Hot,” He huffs, sitting down against the wall. The air outside the bathroom is blessedly cool, and he sucks in as much as he can, but he’s still so dizzy. He is going to black out, he can tell, he can hardly keep his head up. “Water, please. Cold water.”

“Oh! Crap, right. Okay, okay. One sec. Don’t pass out, plea—“

“Here!” Saeko arrives out of nowhere, throwing a cold water bottle at her brother’s face. “Catch! You’re so slow. I heard what he asked for right away!”

Tanaka scrambles to catch the bottle and flails with it a bit before rushing forward to Nishinoya, unscrewing the cap hurriedly. Saeko lingers a step behind him, obviously concerned, and watches him chug half the bottle without a word. Eventually, after a grueling two minutes of Nishinoya just sweating, panting and fanning himself, he speaks.

“I’m alright now,” He murmurs, rolling his shoulders. “Thanks, sis. You saved the day.” He winks at her, half-hearted and weak. She laughs, charmed anyway.

“Ooh, are you? What a big, tough older brother. Ryuu, learn from him. But only after you finish tucking him in. By the way, you don’t have any pants on,” She says, eyes flicking down. Nishinoya has enough shame to blush. “Man… did a shop vac attack you?” She adds, smirking cruelly.

“Hey, you weren’t supposed to save the day, you know,” He says, pulling his knees together. He remembers that there are marks covering almost every inch of his body and he is explosively self-conscience, and turns his head away, blood running cold. Tanaka notices he’s only in his boxers and a loose shirt, and laughs a bit, but Nishinoya feels like he’s going to be sick, so he shoots up from his spot on the floor and runs back into the washroom.

He checks himself in the mirror. There are marks showing openly on his neck and his upper thighs. He is going to be ill.

Nishinoya doesn’t hurl, but does put his pants on now that he isn’t about to pass out from the humidity. Tanaka is knocking at the door while Saeko roars with laughter, and Nishinoya stumbles out, walking past them both in a sort of stupor. Tanaka stops his sister’s laughing and sends her off and stalks after Nishinoya, nattering on worriedly.

“Dude, what’s up? You feeling sick, still? You should get into bed—“

“Yeah,” He cuts Tanaka off, throwing himself into the large bed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Tanaka obviously feels awkward. He rubs his head sheepishly. “This isn’t any big deal, you know – it’s not a bother or anything. You’re ill, it’s like… you can’t be left alone, it’s not your fault. You know?”

Nishinoya meets Tanaka’s gaze, and he holds it for a moment, trying to discern how his friend really feels. Nishinoya has never been one for waxing poetic, or been one for deep, tranquil thinking, and while he tries to be as considerate as he can when it is due, he has never been able to parse other people’s emotions well. But he thinks he sees genuine worry in Tanaka’s eyes, and he thinks about how long they’ve known each other – not long, but they’ve spent so much time together. Tanaka is such a great guy. He’d understand, wouldn’t he? He could help. He could get him out of the situation he’s stuck in.

There’s tears in his eyes now, because if Nishinoya Yuu is anything – he is a big baby at heart.

Tanaka promptly flips. “Whoa! Dude, what’d I do?!” Nishinoya is violently relieved that Saeko is not here right now. As much as a big sister she is to him, there’s no way she’d be able to better the atmosphere right now.

“Nothing,” Nishinoya hiccups, rubbing away the tears gathering in his eyes. He wants to tell Tanaka everything just then. He wants to spill his guts, rub his goddamn viscera all over him – but he knows he can’t do that, know that it is social suicide and that he will never live it down if it gets out. As good as a friend that Tanaka is, he is not tight-lipped. “Ugh, it’s nothing. You’re just being such a great fucking friend, Ryuu, that’s it.”

“Err – I’m just… helping, that’s my duty. I said it, didn’t I?” Tanaka sighs, dropping his hand to his side. “Look. I’m serious, here. It’s not a big deal to me – or Saeko! Er, even though she’s loud, I mean. You know how she is! But yeah. Like. So—”

“Food!” Saeko screams from downstairs, and both Nishinoya and Tanaka jump in response. They share a look and then laugh, and Nishinoya starts to crawl out of bed.

“Nope! Stay right there, mister sickly. You are getting served dinner in bed like a champ, okay? We have trays and everything, so it’ll be mess-free. I am not letting you pass out on the kitchen table. I’ll bring it up in a sec,” He says, pinning Nishinoya to the bed with his eyes.

He leaves, just like that. Nishinoya watches him with his ears, listening to him stomp down the creaky wood stairs to the loud hollering of his sister. She gets quiet and they’re probably talking about him, judging by the dip in volume, but Nishinoya doesn’t mind. He doesn’t have the right.

The wall clock ticks on and on, and Nishinoya eventually relaxes into the bed covers as he listens to the clattering of cutlery and the clinking of china. This atmosphere is soothing and slow, friendly and warm, and he is so terribly jealous just then. Tanaka has the gentle kindness of family surrounding him at all times – Nishinoya has himself, has only ever had himself. His mother is always gone, and his father is, too. He’s been left alone to fend for himself as long as he can remember, and clearly, that was a mistake. He wouldn’t be in this situation right now if it weren’t for the neglect of his parents. It makes a deep bitterness swell up on his tongue.

Before long, Tanaka and Saeko are bounding up the stairs together. Tanaka has a folding tray that he sets up over Nishinoya’s lap while Saeko taps her foot in impatience, but once he’s done, she sets down a big bowl of soup and orders Tanaka to go get the rice.

“Wow, sis, you made this?” He asks, smirking deviously. He moves to take a big sip, but she smacks his hand with the wooden spoon in her hand.

“I did! Hey, wait for the rest of it before you start eating. It’s not that amazing, but it’ll make you feel better at least, which is something, right?” She pauses, looking him over skeptically. “Noya… man, I’m not goin’ to get all up in your grill while Ryuu’s around, ‘cause I know boys get embarrassed fast, but you shouldn’t let your sweetheart mark you up like that.”

Nishinoya chokes on air and is incredibly grateful that he wasn’t in the middle of taking a sip of soup, because it would be all over his shirt if he had. He stares at her, mouth hanging openly dumbly. Tanaka is taking his sweet time downstairs – either that, or time has slowed down. “I’m not…” He manages, finally. “I don’t…”

“It’s obvious to me, okay? It’s fine, I’m not, like, judging you or anything. Whether or not whoever gave you those is a guy or a girl or an alien. But, if you need to talk or something… I’ve had some asshole S.O’s before, ‘kay? I got outta there real quick, so I get it. I’m looking out for you!”

“Oh,” He says, dumbly, glancing down at his shirt – it’s loose, and one side is creeping dangerously close to slipping off his shoulder. His shoulder, which has very obvious, very painful looking bruises covering it. “That’s…”

“Is it related to your… flu?” She asks, eyes suddenly gleaming. Before Nishinoya can fathom to answer, though, Tanaka is bounding up the stairs. Nishinoya yanks his shirt up into place and wraps a blanket around himself, just as he stumbles back in with some rice and fish.

“Hey! Food!” Tanaka plops it down in front of him, more cheery than normal, and Nishinoya is relieved. Saeko slips away while they chat, and Tanaka leans in real close and whispers in his ear, causing an inadvertent shiver to run up and down his spine. “This is a secret, but the soup is from frozen. My mom actually made it! Saeko just helped with prepping it. But don’t tell her I told you, she’s super proud of her masterpiece.”

Nishinoya has to laugh, and it feels good to really laugh, but Tanaka leaves him with his food after a little while and he lapses back into comfortable silence again. The sounds of the television start up, and he listens to the two siblings argue on the lower floor while he eats, feeling oddly at peace. The soup is delicious, and the rice is perfect, of course.

Saeko knows something is up, but Nishinoya can probably just convince her that it’s a rowdy little girlfriend he had a bit of a fling with. It’s not a big deal. He won’t let it be. He’s thinking hard, so when Tanaka comes upstairs and retrieves his dishes he stays unusually quiet, and it takes him a second to realize that Tanka is already gone and Saeko is standing right in front of him, hands on her hips.

“I’m here to teach you how to use this TV,” she says, pointing to the small flatscreen in front of the bed. Nishinoya blinks at her as she waves the remote in his face and then walks around to the other side of the bed and sits down. “Oh, and unbeknownst to Ryuu, I’m also here to lecture you more about your girlfriend.”

“Sis!” Nishinoya shouts, far more upset than he has any right to be, considering he was well on his way past the anxiety that had bubbled up earlier. “God, it’s just – it was just a little fling,” He sighs, embarrassed.

“So it is from making out then!” She claps her hands together, and Nishinoya looks around to see if Tanaka is hiding behind a wall and they’re just conspiring together to humiliate him. He can hear the clatter of dishes being washed, though, so he knows that his friend and his sister aren’t in on this together. “You’re so mature, Yuu.”

“No,” He stammers, hunching in on himself. He feels so cold, suddenly. “I’m really not. It was nothing. You don’t have to worry about it,” He says.

“Sure,” She nods. “I’m really just trying to tell you that you can talk to me, y’know. Anyway, here’s the power button and these are the controls for the stero…”

She shows him how to work the remote, dropping the subject unusually quickly. Still, Nishinoya is grateful not to have to face it, and by the time Tanaka stomps back upstairs and yells at her to hurry up and leave, they’re both laughing together and flicking through stupid television channels. She jumps up and salutes him.

“See ya! I’m off now. I won’t be back till, I dunno, tomorrow. Don’t party too hard while I’m gone or else mom will kill you!” She smacks Ryuu on the shoulder as she goes, and Nishinoya gives her a little wave. Just like that, she’s gone.

“God, she’s a piece of work,” Tanaka rolls his eyes and flings himself onto the space she’d occupied just a second ago, and then he seems to reconsider it and he sits up. “Ew, wait. You’re sick. I am not catching the flu, thanks.”

“I don’t think this is one you can catch,” Nishinoya sighs, slumping comfortably in the warm bedding. “I wouldn’t risk it if I were you, though. I feel like shit and I’ve done nothing but sleep and lay down for days. I hope I don’t get bedsores,” He grumbles, miserable.

“You won’t,” Tanaka says, flopping over and narrowly avoiding landing on Nishinoya. “I’m already an A plus caretaker, dude. Speaking of that, how’re you feelin’ right now? Any better?”

“Yeah,” Nishinoya nods, patting Tanaka’s head. “Thanks. I’m feeling a lot better. Way stronger. I didn’t eat anything during those three days, so…” He shrugs. “I’m just super weak. I’m less sick and more deprived of water and food and stuff,” He says.

“That’s right!” Tanaka jumps up, flying out of the bed and thundering down the stairs. Nishinoya is perplexed until he returns up the stairs with a giant pitcher of water and a glass. “This! For you. You need lots of fluids, probably, I bet. And you know where the washroom is if you’re gonna hurl, right? Wait… do you need a bucket?”

“I just said I’m not that sick anymore!” Nishinoya throws a pillow at Tanaka after he sets the water down and then they bicker and fight. It’s a telltale sign that he’s getting better, since just hours earlier he would rather sleep than talk and chatter, even in good fun.

Tanaka really is a good friend, he thinks, later that night. The room is dark and Tanaka’s in bed in another room, and Nishinoya lets himself weep a little bit, silent tears that do little more than stuff his nose up. He is so tired of charades and lies, but he knows that his friends are the best friends he could ask for, knows that if he were to tell Tanaka – or Asahi, or Hinata, or Sugawara – they’d accept it and they’d help him.

Nishinoya Yuu tells himself he is not weak, but he knows that someone strong would have broken their chains long ago.

The following days come and go quickly, and before long, he is back at school with very faint, light bruises. He goes back home to his cold house and empty room and he picks up the pieces.

He tells no one.


End file.
